Seasons of the Witch
by Viscount Anarchy
Summary: A generic Founders' Era timetravel story featuring eventual Harry/Rowena Ravenclaw.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I'm spinning this story off from my misc doc. I've written a bit for it, with a general idea of what I want to do, but I am mostly just writing it by the seat of my pants. That being said, there's no planned update schedule. Also, don't expect this to be an accurate historical account of anything. And feel free to point out any spelling errors and things like that.

* * *

Falling. That's what it felt like he was doing, as the emptiness of eternity pulled at him from every side, unrelenting in its pressure. His eyes were closed, yet his vision was filled with swirls of brightly colored light, magic of the most arcane arcing all around him, transporting him through time and space and through infinite darkness.

With a thud, Harry arrived face down in mud, having travelled a thousand years into the past. It hadn't been a quick trip, nor an easy one, but it was a necessary one. Harry laid down in the mud for a few seconds, perhaps even a few minutes, letting his sore body rest.

He did not have a long reprieve, as there was a sudden commotion nearby, and the sound of shouts and clanking metal. Sputtering, Harry rolled himself up onto his elbows to see what was going on. His whole body ached, and it felt like needles were being poked into all of his muscles.

Blinking several times to get the mud and fatigue out of his eyes, Harry took in the sight around him. He was in the middle of a path that travelled through a bustling town, There wasn't a cellphone, pair of blue jeans or sunglasses in sight, let alone cars on the road, or planes in the sky. There were no skyscrapers, no annoying and rude bikers, and certainly no Starbucks.

What there was though, were a flock of villagers all dressed in ye-olde garments of yesteryear, slowly backing away from him. And slightly farther away, was a small column of steel-clad soldiers, clomping away as they marched towards him, shields at the ready, and hands on their sword hilts.

Harry could hear the muttering of the crowd as the soldiers approached. When he had planned this trip, he had ensured that he'd be able to speak the tongue of the times, but his head was so muddled after such an arduous trip he could barely hear himself thinking, let alone what was being said around him.

The soldiers stopped right in front of Harry. They were large men, muscular as well, and each was clad in a hauberk of ringed metal that jingled as they walked. Over top, they wore a tabard which displayed a large cross, painted blue, the same symbol that was also on their shields. His arrival had not been as subtle as he had hoped.

"Stand up!" Their leader said, addressing Harry. "Stand up at once!"

Harry groaned as he moved, and he slowly reached for his wand. He didn't have time for this. But, as he reached, there was suddenly a soldier behind him, gripping his wrists.

"Make no sudden moves," the soldier said. "If you cooperate, we will make this as clean as possible."

"As clean as possible for what.?" Harry asked, trying to maintain his calm.

The leader stepped forward and leaned in closer to Harry. "Tell me your name _boy,_ so these kind villagers who just witnessed your witchcraft will know whom we've just sent off to his heathen gods."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said stonily.

"Perhaps this will refresh your memory…" the leader said, slowly unsheathing his sword.

Harry, realizing that he wasn't going to be able to talk his way out of this, not in his current state, again reached for his wand, squirming out of the soldier's grasp as he did so. Even as fatigued as he was, he was quick in pulling out his holly and phoenix feather wand and he evoked a banishing charm at the man, only to stare slack-jawed as the spell hit the man's armor, glowed for a second, and dissipated without any effect.

Harry, in his brief period of surprise, was suddenly disarmed when the man behind him quickly plucked the wand out of his hand, threw it to the ground and stomped on it, snapping it in two. Then, just as deftly, a sack hood was thrown over his head as the rest of the soldiers quickly grabbed him and bound him in rope.

"There! You see with your own eyes the foul arts this heathen has dared invoke on one of God's favored. For this, we will purge his soul! To the pyre!"

"Deus vult!" The soldiers chanted, dragging Harry by his arms, who was still struggling in an attempt to break his bonds. With the hood over his head, and wandless, Harry was beginning to panic a bit. This is not what he had planned, not at all.

Unbeknownst to him, not everyone who witnessed what just happened was a mere muggle. Harry was quite certain that the soldiers _were_ plain old muggles, though he couldn't explain why his spell did not work. But, he did not see the man who had been lurking in the shadows.

They dragged Harry along the path, and he could hear both the villagers chanting for his death, and the soldiers recanting prayers in Latin. He understood the words well enough, but it did not fill him with hope. It was clear that these guys were zealots, or crusaders, and in their eyes, he was a heathen. They must have seen him arrive out of thin air, which would undoubtedly unsettle most people.

As they dragged Harry along, the chanting got louder, and the villagers, more boisterous. Then, they started throwing rocks, and that was not pleasant, not at all. He felt a large one bounce off his head, which did not help his current condition.

After what felt like an hour, the soldier stopped, and he felt them lifting him off the ground, placing him on some sort of platform or plinth. That was when Harry knew that things were getting really serious, and he had to act. He didn't fancy getting killed in the name of their god, whether it was by fire, or by beheading or something else.

Harry, gathering his resolve, reached for his magic. There was an aura around him, an aura of repression emitting from the armored soldiers. It was sapping at his strength, and as soon as quickly as he felt his magic coming forth, it was quickly washed away. That wasn't good. He hadn't felt anything like that in, well, ever.

But, with a grunt, Harry called forth his power all at once, overpowering the aura, and in a blink, he felt his body transform. His body shrunk and contorted, his arms turning into front legs. Where there had been a human male wizard, now stood a large spotted cat, a jaguar, the sack hood forgotten on the ground, and the loops of rope tangled at his feet. And a stride later, he pounced on the soldier right in front of him, knocking him down in a surprising burst of strength, and in the next stride, he was away from the soldiers and charging through the town.

In jaguar form, Harry was fast, faster than armored soldiers, faster than villagers. Faster than their horses, even. But he was so sore and drained, that he barely made it five hundred feet before he ducked behind a wooden building and reverted back to his human form, clothed but without the executioner's hood.

Breathing heavily, Harry all but jumped out of his shoes as a sudden clapping sound came in front of him, and a man came into view. He was clad from head to toe in a black robe, his face obscured by shadows. "Impressive," the man said, still clapping. "To escape the Knights of Saint Benedict is no easy feat, especially for an unknown such as yourself. And trust me, I know _everyone."_

"You're a wizard then," Harry said. He was panting heavily, and he was exhausted. It had taken a phenomenal amount of effort to change into his animagus form while in the presence of those Knights, not to mention the time travel. He was practically dead on his feet

"That I am," the man replied.

Harry nodded and his body eased slightly. "These Knights of whatever… what's their deal?"

The man scoffed. "They hate our kind. But they're nothing but zealous riff-raff is you ask me. If you had waited any longer, I would have jumped in. It's sacrilege to waist any magical blood, no matter the lineage, and I would rather not let them display their work. Too many have been lost to their kind as is."

"Are they magical?" Harry asked. "When they had that hood on my head, it felt like my magic was being drained. And my banishing charm seemed to bounce off their armor."

"Not magical, no," the man said. "I've been trying to figure out how they do it… that's why I was there, watching them, looking for a weakness. They believe their god gives them strength, that it gives them the power to defeat our kind. They'll believe that their prayers were answered when your magic had no effect on them."

"I don't believe any of that nonsense," Harry said. "It looked like magic to me, not some holy power."

"That's because it _was_ magic," the man said. "Enchanted armor, and spell-breaking swords. Thus, you now see the problem at hand. Zealots who hate magic, unknowingly using magical items in the name of their God."

"Yes, I see how that could be a problem. But, I've got other things to worry about at the moment," Harry said. "I feel drained, and I'd rather not pass out in front of a stranger, no offense intended."

"None taken," the man replied. "I will trade a name for a name, then perhaps, a place to rest for the night? And, a new wand? I saw what they did to yours."

"Sure," Harry said. "I'm Harry Potter."

"A pleasure to meet you," the man said, bowing slightly. "I am Salazar Slytherin."

Harry's eyes widened just a fraction, but it was enough that the man noticed.

"I take it by your expression, you know who I am?" The man said, pulling back his hood. His skin was tan, and his hair, long and black, with a trimmed goatee and a needle-thin mustache. His eyes were pale grey with a deep, calculating intelligence. He was a handsome man, and likely, very dangerous.

"I know of you," Harry said carefully, suddenly quite wary.

"I am not surprised," the man said nonchalantly. "As I said before, I know _everyone_ , and now I know you. Now tell me, how did someone such as yourself appear out of nowhere, and then shapeshift into an animal? Those are talents not often seen outside of the most ancient of the clans, and even then, they're not common."

"I had a good mentor," Harry replied.

"Hmpf," Salazar replied, scoffing. "Very well, very well, everyone has their secrets. Come then, you are clearly not from around here, if you do not know of the Knights of Saint Benedict. It is my duty as my father's steward to offer you lodgings for the night."

Harry hesitated in accepting the offer right away. He knew little about the Slytherins of old, and even less about Salazar, but of the things he did know, very little of it was good. And for a reputation to last a thousand years like it had, it was likely something extreme.

"It is good you are mistrustful in these dark times, but there _are_ safety in numbers. The next time you come across the Knights, you might not be so lucky. And I assure you, they will not take this defeat lightly. I will offer you my word that I mean no harm, and my word is worth more than gold."

"Fine, fine, just lead the way."

Salazar pulled his hood up and motioned for Harry to do the same, before he went back out into the main thoroughfare. Harry followed him, though he was sluggish.

"You know, I've never seen anyone escape from the Knights on their own," Salazar said as they walked through a busy path. There was a series of shops on the one side of the path, with a particularly popular inn. Harry could smell fresh-baked bread, as well as stale bear, as they passed by the entrance. Harry was starving, but they could not stop.

"They capture many that you've had to rescue?" Harry asked curiously.

"I'm not the only one watching out for them," Salazar replied. He was awfully talkative for someone who had a dark reputation. "Sadly, we don't get the chance to rescue many. I know of thirty deaths this year alone, and who knows how many we're not aware of. You're the sixth I've saved, but I wouldn't consider yourself fortunate yet."

"What do you mean?"

"You've been marked," Salazar said. He started to speed up slightly, and Harry had to struggle to keep pace. Salazar was smooth and graceful as he weaved through tall the villagers, and Harry was anything but.

"How so?"

"You've been touched by them. They will be able to see you like a lantern in the night. They will be drawn to you, and as they get closer, you will feel your strength sapping away again. It will get worse the closer they get, and it will get worse the longer you have it. They do not appreciate people escaping them, and have taken means to prevent that."

"A curse, then?" Harry asked. "I can barely stand as is."

"Indeed," Salazar said. "Admittedly, it is one that is beyond my talent to cure, as it would take months, if not years, to study the proper curse removal technique. I haven't had the luxury of time to do such."

"Surely you know of someone who can help?" Harry asked. He tried to not sound desperate, but he was in the middle of medieval London, with no friends and no knowledge, and in deep trouble. Salazar was his only chance.

"The woman I knew of who had the skill died not three weeks past. She was an old crone of the Moonwood clan, but she was very knowledgeable about curses. I don't know anyone of her caliber."

"But you do know someone?" Harry asked.

"Like I said - I know everyone worth knowing, and I know someone who might be able to help, if she's willing."

"Why wouldn't she be willing?" Harry asked. "If it's coin, I'm sure I could do something."

"It won't be an issue of coin. It will be an issue that my grandfather burnt down her clan's village fifteen years ago because they refused to pay weregild. We don't take dishonor like that kindly."

"Ah. Well, I see how that could be a problem," Harry said.

Salazar offered no more information, and Harry asked of none. It was not his place, even if the curiosity was digging at him. He had bigger things to worry about, such as making sure he didn't stumble over his feet. He would swear that the Knights were just out of sight, and that even a small stumble would lead to his recapture. He wasn't sure if it was the curse digging at him, or just his own paranoia.

They managed to get away without incident. Whatever magic they were using to track Harry was either slow to act, or perhaps the Knight's just weren't that mobile. They had been wearing heavy armor after all, though a small part of Harry's mind wondered if he had been spared only for someone else to fall into their grasp, and Salazar wasn't there to save them.

It was near nightfall when they finally arrived at wherever Salazar had taken him. They had left the city proper and were off in the smallwood, on a lightly travelled path. There were houses hidden deep in the trees, but the layout was such that Harry doubted the area even had a name. Regardless, Salazar seemed to know where he was going when they stopped in front of a small, nondescript wooden hut that was partially obscured by a great oak tree. He only spared Harry a single glance before knocking on the door.

Harry heard the sound of a chair being pushed back, before the soft sound of footfalls approached the door. Then, a second later, it creaked open, revealing a cloaked figure. At first glance, Harry could tell she was female, though he could not see her face through the shadows of her hood. There was just a hint of long black hair flowing out.

"You," the woman said upon seeing Salazar. "You and your clan are not welcome here."

The woman went to close the door, but Salazar stopped it with her foot, gently. "I'm not here to harm you," he said quickly. "I am here to ask you for your help."

She didn't seem to panic, in fact, she merely tilted her head to the side, as if she was curious about something. She then noticed Harry.

"Who's your friend?" she asked.

"This is Harry Potter," Salazar said.

"I don't know of any Potters."

"Nor I," Salazar replied. "But that doesn't matter right now. What matters is that he's been marked by the Knights of Saint Benedict."

The woman flinched back slightly. "You're mad for bringing him here, then. What if you were followed? You know how relentless they are. They always find their prey."

"They lost our trail nearly four hours ago. We should have some time before they catch up."

"Four _hours?"_ the woman repeated. "He shouldn't even be alive if that were the case, let alone standing."

"He's strong-willed," Salazar replied. "And he had me with him. Well, will you help or not?"

"Why don't you take him to that crone you're clan is so fond of, Broona?"

"She's dead," Salazar stated.

"Ah. Well, sorry for your loss," she said.

"No you're not." Salazar said.

"No I'm not," she agreed. She shook her head. "Fine. Come in. I've never removed a mark before, but from what I know, it's not too dissimilar from other curses. You just have to know the trick."

"You'll be able to do it?" Harry asked, speaking up for the first time.

"Of course I can," she scoffed. "Whether or not I can do it before you pass out, well, I cannot guarantee that. But I can guarantee that it will be painful."

They entered the hut, and the first thing Harry noticed was that it was much larger on the inside than it was on the outside. Spatial expansion charms were a tricky thing for a random witch to be using, especially on something that they planned to live inside of. She must have had utmost confidence in her ability, since a malfunction of the charm would lead to disastrous consequences. Harry's estimation of her immediately rose up a notch.

"Salazar," the woman said. "I want you to light that yellow candle. Make sure it's the yellow one, and not the white one."

She pointed at a large tapered candle that was resting on a shelf amidst an assortment of clutter, including an assortment of different sized candles. If there was a word to describe the house, messy would be it. It wasn't like there was refuse everywhere, instead, there was piles and piles of books, an assortment of half-filled glass vials of varying size, and what must have been a hundred quills, and that was just what Harry could see on the table.

"What will it do?" Salazar asked as he picked up the candle and set it upright. As he brought flame to the wick, a sudden pulse of magic flashed across the room, settling across all of them. It was unnerving, but it did not feel harmful. Salazar didn't even flinch.

"It will protect us from scrying, at least until the flame goes out. It should hamper the Knights' ability to find this place."

The witch scampered about, quickly moving tomes around while searching out specific references. She pulled a worn clay idol out of a bag and placed it on the table, before she quickly went on to her next task, which involved a cauldron and an assortment of alchemical ingredients, only half of which Harry recognized.

Eventually she seemed to have everything in order. "Well, might as well sit down and make yourself comfortable," she said, gesturing to Harry and pointing at a sturdy chair. "This may take awhile."

"Before we start, may I ask your name?" Harry asked. "Knowing who I owe a debt to would make it easier to pay off."

The woman pulled her hood back, revealing her face. She was young, and very pretty. Her hair was as black as his own, and longer than he would have thought. Her eyes were almond shaped and a piercing brown that did not fail to draw his gaze. She smirked, as if she could tell what Harry was thinking.

"You may call me Rowena Ravenclaw."


	2. Chapter 2

For months, Harry had prepared for this. Had spent countless hours researching, and even more practicing. He learned of battles and wars, the various factions looking to conquer others. He had learned of the culture, what they might wear, what people of different classes would do on a daily basis. And he learned of what people he might expect to encounter, depending on where he went, whether it's Vikings in the north or Saxons in the south, and the different languages they brought.

But none of that prepared him from the Knights of Saint Benedict. Harry knew who Saint Benedict was, in vague terms. He knew the Saint was already long dead by this point, and he also knew that he had been very anti-magic. But the group was an anomaly. He hadn't ever heard of any group remotely like them, at any time in history.

Harry wouldn't consider himself a historian or anything remotely close to being an expert, but the fact of the matter remained - Muggles using magical items just wasn't done. Not on any large, purposeful scale. Sure, there was the occasional case where a Muggle would accidentally come across a biting teacup, but this was a group of Muggles using enchanted armaments to hunt down witches and wizards. That was far different from the various militant religious orders that popped up from time to time.

Something didn't add up.

The only sounds in the house were Salazar's steady pacing across the rough wooden floor, as well as Rowena's intermittent turning of the page in her book as she read the words by wandlight. She was compiling all the information she would need for the decursing. It took all the effort Harry could muster just to stay awake, and he was half expecting a knock on the door at any minute from the Knights of Saint Benedict.

The answer for their existence, at least, the ones that he could think of, were not pleasant to think about. Perhaps someone had erased their existence from the history books. Perhaps someone from their group, trying to hide their existence, or perhaps it was a benign purpose, with someone not wanting anyone to get a similar idea in the future.

An alternate answer was that perhaps they would eventually change their goals and slowly change into a different group, and perhaps their exploits would eventually get overshadowed by something else. The Knights Templar were a famous religious order, but they did not yet exist. Perhaps the Knights of Saint Benedict would go on to be a different order that Harry did not know about

Or, perhaps they were just a flash in the pan, ending up as little more than a footnote that Harry just happened to miss. Harry's gut feeling was telling him something different. Either someone had purposefully omitted them, or someone had altered their history into that of a different group, hiding them in plain sight, or not at all. There was the old saying - "history is written by the victor."

But who was the victor? Did the Knights ultimately accomplish their goal? Harry couldn't even be sure of what their ultimate goal was - beyond killing heathens - but as they had tried to kill him, it was likely nothing good.

What Harry did know, is that he would not stand idly by as they continued their persecution. He may have been lucky and managed to escape, but how many others weren't? And, how many others were falsely accused to begin with? Harry was well versed in the Salem Witch Trials, and he knew far more innocent muggles were killed than witches. It wouldn't be too much of a stretch to think that the same thing was happening now.

Harry needed more information though. He had almost none, but luckily for him, he had two sources of information readily available to him.

"I have some questions about the Knights," Harry stated. "Seeing as how they just tried to kill me, I would like to know more."

"I'll answer as best as I can," Salazar replied. He stopped his pacing and took a second to lean backwards against a bookcase to turn his attention on Harry. "But I admit that my knowledge is much less than I wish."

"How long have they been around?" Harry asked for starters. "The villagers did not really seem to react to their presence."

"The villagers are under the assumption that the Knights are saving them from some great evil," Salazar replied. "That, or they're indifferent and minding their own business. They've been around for maybe five years or so, but they've only really become a problem in the last six months."

"What Salazar means," Rowena began, not taking her eyes off the book she was looking through. "Is that they weren't actively hunting our kind from the beginning. They start by preaching. They would spout the gospel of Saint Benedict, and would go on about how witches needed to be purged. Perhaps not as bluntly as I made it sound, but eventually they started to act. They were coordinated enough that I am fairly certain that this is a long-term plan and wasn't a spur-of-the-moment thing. They are too well organized and armed for it to be anything else."

"From what I gather, they were once part of a larger order, a subsect of their religious community," Salazar said. He was deep in thought as he contemplated what he actually knew about them. "Their views slowly changed until they were more focused on their anti-magic beliefs than anything else, so then they formed their own brotherhood, with Benedict as their Patron Saint. Who their leader is, I have no clue."

"They must get their orders from somewhere," Harry said.

"That would imply that they are actively getting new orders," Salazar replied. "As far as I can tell, they are merely following their standing orders and doing what is commanded by their order's doctrine. If they are receiving new orders, it is few and far between."

"What about meeting places?" Harry asked. "Do they have a barracks, or a specific church they congregate at?"

"A few. I have staked out several of them. I've even been inside them, hidden by magic. They are ordinary, just as the men themselves are ordinary. There is a chain of command, but it does not seem to stretch beyond a particular unit. I have not seen any communication between the various groups."

"But that does not mean it isn't happening," Harry pointed out.

"Indeed," Salazar agreed. "I have not ruled out the idea of them using magical means to communicate, perhaps some device given to them that I have not been able to ascertain."

Harry nodded his head. "Have you interrogated anyone?"

"Certainly. I have even killed a few in some of my rescues," Salazar said. "I did not relish it, but I did what had to be done. The soldier was replaced pretty much the very next day. As for questioning, no one, not even a garrison commander, has any information beyond patrol routes and supply scheduling. As far as I can tell, one's rank is merely assigned based on their veterancy rather than a specific capacity they are fulfilling."

"Speaking of killing," Harry said, "How many innocents have they actually killed?"

"They're all innocent," Salazar replied.

"I mean Muggles," Harry clarified. "With a group like that, it seems like it would be easy for them to not look too closely at who they think is a heathen and kill someone with no magic ability at all."

"Hundreds no doubt," Salazar said. "I cannot claim to bare witness to every single purge that has happened. In truth, I doubt I've seen more than one in ten. They've killed thirty of our kind this year that I know of, and I would say twice as many muggles, perhaps more. And this is just an estimation. I am unaware of the goings-on beyond these lands, so it is not impossible the Knights' influence is greater than we think."

"That is a disturbing thought," Harry said. He was having many thoughts, as well as many possible solutions, but each as unlikely to work as the next.

A few moments passed in silence before Rowena closed her book and stood up from where she was sitting. "I am ready to begin," she said abruptly. "To start, if you would come sit over here, and remove all magical items from your person. It would not do to accidentally disenchant something."

"How long will it take?" Harry asked, moving over to where she indicated.

"No more than a few minutes," she said. "Understanding the concept behind what needs to be done is the most difficult part. Actually performing it is rudimentary."

"I see," Harry said. He started pulling the various magical items out of his robe and placing them down on the table next to him. First was his bag of holding, which held all of his stuff like the books and clothes he would need for a long term adventure. Next, he pulled out a set of vials, which all contained various concoctions and were charmed to be unbreakable.

Harry carefully moved the vials off to the side. The contents of some of them were volatile. And, while they may have unbreakable charms on them, no charm was infallible. It was best to not take chances. Next to the vials, he laid down two small loops of mediumly hefty silver chain. And next to the chains, he placed down half a dozen sharpened wooden stakes.

One of the stakes nearly rolled off the table, but he quickly caught it and place it back in the pile. Salazar raised a curious eyebrow as he watched on, but Harry paid him no attention as he reached back inside of his robe and pulled out three spare wands.

Each one was holly and phoenix feather, just like his original. Harry had been annoyed, even slightly inconvenienced, when the Knights had stomped on his original wand, breaking it and leaving it in the middle of a dirt path who-knows-where, but Harry had come quite prepared for this journey. He knew better than most, that it was best to be prepared for the worst, just in case something unexpected happen.

To top it off, Harry pulled out a silver-bladed dagger with a steel pommel and stabbed it downwards into the table, where it wobbled back and forth slightly.

"Was that necessary?" Rowena asked, frowning slightly.

"Not really, no," Harry replied.

"Who are you?" Salazar asked, shaking his head. "You're not just a common wizard, are you? You planning on hunting werewolves and vampires?"

"Not as such, no. I've never really been considered a common wizard." Harry replied. "I'm a hunter," Harry replied.

"Well, if you plan on hunting my family or myself, I would appreciate a warning ahead of time."

"The world doesn't revolve around you or your family, Salazar," Rowena said. "Despite what you might think."

Salazar snorted. "I just find it suspicious that a man whom I've never heard of is walking around here prepared to fight off all sorts monsters. Yet, he has not heard of the Knights of Saint Benedict, whom have more kills of our kind in six months to their name than werewolves do in the last hundred years."

"You said it yourself," Harry said. "I'm well-prepared for magical enemies. But the Knights, they're not magical. I did not even think I would come across a real threat from a group of mere knights. My knowledge of this area is obviously extremely lacking."

"Obviously," Salazar said dryly. "Otherwise we would not be here with Rowena, who is going to remove this curse from you."

"I don't even remember them putting it on me," Harry said. "They didn't cast a spell, of course, and all they really did was catch me by surprise, disarm and bind me. I didn't feel any magic, just a sense of wrongness, like an aura that sapped my strength."

"As I said when we first met, I've been trying to figure out how they do it," Salazar stated. "Once that mystery is solved, that might go a long way in figuring out how to prevent this from happening again."

Harry thought back on the incident that had only happened a few hours ago. It had happened completely by surprise, while he was at his most vulnerable. Timetravel was no simple affair, and travelling such a distance was the most disorienting and uncomfortable thing Harry had ever done.

Thinking back on it, the Knights hadn't actually done much. They snapped his wand, they bound his hands with rope, and placed a hood over his head. They had then dragged him through the street, chanting a prayer as they did so.

Could that be it? Obviously, muggles couldn't cast spells with incantations, but it was possible that they could activate a spell or enchantment with a phrase. If they were carrying an object that was enchanted by someone else to respond to a command, then chanting the prayer might have been the catalyst. And the item...

"Hey Salazar," Harry began, suddenly getting an idea. "When they captured me, was one of the Knights holding something like a cross, or a rosary, by any chance?"

"Hm, now that you mention, I do recall seeing one," Salazar replied. "What are you thinking?"

"What about at the other times you've watched them?"

"I do believe so, yes. I did not think anything of it, as they are a religious order - carrying a religious symbol would be the same as carrying a sword or a shield…"

"Which is why it is ingenious," Harry said. "Using a holy symbol to invoke a spell. People would think they're being empowered by God's will."

"The audacity of that is astounding…" Salazar replied. He rubbed at his chin as he contemplated the implications. "Yet, I admit it does make some sense."

"If we can get one of them, perhaps we come up with a way to prevent this from happening."

"Perhaps. But, with the way you're talking, you sound like you want to go after them. Most people would thank whatever deity they believe in and count themselves fortunate, and never go anywhere near them again."

"I'm not like most people," Harry said. "And I'm not the type of person to let my would-be murderers walk around without punishment."

"You can't just go around murdering these guys either, not in cold blood," Salazar said. "If that was the solution, it would have been done months ago. We have to find their leader. We have to cut the head off of the snake, otherwise it will keep growing back."

Rowena laughed lightly. "Of course you would compare a militaristic religious order to a snake," she said.

"I said I was a hunter," Harry replied. "What I meant to say is that I'm a _relic hunter_. I don't kill people. Well, not usually."

"A relic hunter?" Salazar asked. "That's interesting. Anything I might know of?"

"There's a few actually, but perhaps you've heard of the Thorn of Tivetra? If you do, that might make this ordeal worth it after all."

"I can't say that I do," Salazar admitted. "I might know of someone -"

"It's also known as the Goblin's Bane," Rowena said, butting in. She didn't even look up from the tome she was reading. "It was lost in the third century after a particularly violent rebellion."

"Lost to us, perhaps, but not lost to them," Harry responded. "It's stored deep inside a vault in Gringotts, guarded at all times so it can never be used against them again."

"I would be interested to learn how you came by this information," Rowena replied.

"As would I," Salazar added.

"This is what my employer told me," Harry replied. "I have to assume the information is correct, at least up to the point I discover something that contradicts it."

"Well, I don't envy your task, Harry," Rowena replied. "But, you're not going to be doing anything until you get the Mark removed. Are you ready?"

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

Harry wasn't really sure what to expect. He knew little about removing curses, and had never actually seen it done himself. His plan was to just not get hit with them in the first place, but his luck was bad enough that he wasn't surprised that his first was when he was a thousand years in the past.

He had seen the effects of long-term curses in the past. While the Killing Curse killed instantly and efficiently, the Withering Curse that Albus Dumbledore got hit with was incurable and slowly killed the man who was considered by most to have been the most powerful wizard of the modern era.

Whether that Withering Curse was curable or not was a different topic altogether. Some debated that Dumbledore could have sought specialist assistance. Other's thought that it was only through exceptional skill that Dumbledore wasn't killed within hours by it and that it was nearly miraculous that he had managed to live as long as he had with it. Harry thought the truth was somewhere in the middle

Rowena began to chant softly. Her voice was melodic, yet distant, as if she was talking from another room despite being right next to him. Her words were seemingly nonsensical, but Harry could feel power in them.

It wasn't a good power. It made Harry feel uneasy, almost queasy. It was a feeling Harry was familiar with, that of dark magic. She chanted for a minute or so, and as she did, the power in the room was slowly ramping up, like a small droning sound that slowly gets louder and louder until it's impossible to ignore. It was tantalizing, euphoric, and frustrating all at the same time.

Several candles in the room suddenly flared to light, in different colors. There were green, purple and even black candles, all of which cast their inky light into the room. Harry held his breath as Rowena reached the crescendo in her magic.

She reached for the clay idol that was resting on the table, and moved the statuette closer to her. It was rough-hewn and made with little care, but it was still carved to look like a human. Rowena cast a silent spell on the statuette, causing it to glow and look like it was liquid right beneath the surface, almost as if it was alive.

A blade was brought out, from where Harry was not sure, but it was suddenly in Rowena's hands. She cut a quick line on her palm, and let the blood flow freely. Silently, she let the blood well out and drip onto the statuette, which seemed to absorb every drop of it.

Once satisfied, Rowena wrapped her bleeding hand with a cloth before reaching for a small linen satchel that Harry hadn't noticed before. Out of the satchel, Rowena pulled a small pinch of fine metallic dust. She sprinkled it haphazardly around both Harry and the blood-infused idol, glinting black in the candlelight as it settled on the ground.

The power in the air was greater than before, and it was still increasing even though Rowena was no longer chanting. The uneasy, queasy feeling had been replaced be one of suffocation and smothering, and Harry's skin felt as if someone was rubbing ash all over it. It was not pleasant.

Rowena suddenly pointed her wand at Harry, sticking it right into his chest. She spoke a single word, and Harry felt a strange sucking sensation as she slowly pulled her wand back. On the tip, there was a brackish colored ball of energy that crackled with malevolent power. It was small, almost insignificantly so, yet it seemed to pulse with unrestrained loathing. So much so that just having it near him made Harry's lips curl in disgust.

Immediately, Rowena pulled it away and plunged the ball of energy into the clay idol. The effect was quick, and the thing seemed to awaken as if it were under an animation spell. The arms pulled away from the body, and it made a gesture that Harry would interpret as a yawn. The legs split down the center and popped apart, allowing the idol to make a stretched motion. Then, without warning, it began to wail

It was furiously loud, the wailing, obnoxiously so. It was more like a screech than anything, going on and on and on, and then suddenly the idol collapsed in on itself, as if it were clutching its gut in extreme pain. Harry winced. It was quite disturbing to watch.

Swiftly, Rowena picked the anguished idol of the table and hurled it to the ground, where it shattered into a thousand pieces. As if the air was suddenly sucked out of the room, the candles all went out at once, leaving nothing but faint wisps of inky smoke behind, and the magic in the air dissipated entirely. It was calm, and for the first time since arriving, Harry's head was clear.

Harry just did not realize how muddled his head had been, but now that he could think again, it was obvious. He could hear and smell clearly again, and his sight was as vibrant as it ever was. And his magic… it was there at his fingertips, unrestrained and just waiting to be unleashed. But, Harry was _tired._ The whole ordeal had left him absolutely exhausted.

Salazar was the first to speak. "That was... interesting," he said. "I did not expect you to resort to dark magic, Rowena, but I can't deny the effectiveness of it. How do you feel, Harry?"

"I feel tired," Harry said. "Exhausted. But, I can feel that the curse has been lifted. I feel whole."

"That is good," Rowena said. "I'm glad it worked. As for your comment, Salazar, what did you expect? You came to my house in the middle of the night, asking for a cure to something I've never done before. I had a limited amount of time, so I had to do what I had to do. It was the only choice I had."

"I'm not complaining," Salazar replied. "Nor do I hear Harry complaining. Just noting that Broona did it much differently."

"Well, I'm not Broona," Rowena retorted.

"So I've noticed."

Harry wasn't listening. In fact, he was already passed out where he was sitting. His head was resting on his chest, and there was no way he was comfortable at all. He breathing was deep and heavy, and he was clearly sinking deeper into his dreams.

"Must have been a long day," Rowena said dryly, turning her attention to Harry. A sudden whiff of acrid smoke caught her nose, as if something was burning. She saw a flash of light out of the corner of her eye, and turning her head to look through her window, she saw a light in the distance, flickering. Fire light.

Surprised, Rowena turned her head to look at the yellow, tapered candle that she had asked Salazar to light earlier. The one that would prevent people from scrying their location with magic. It was out.

Rowena quickly turned to Salazar, the panic clearly evident on her face. "When did that candle go out?" she asked hurriedly.

Salazar blinked twice before his vision found what Rowena was looking at. "Maybe when the other candles went out during the ritual?" he replied. "Ten minutes ago, perhaps."

"That's not good," Rowena said. As she rushed over to relight the candle, she addressed Salazar. "There's a fire outside - you should go see what it is."

"You think it's the Knights?" Salazar asked. "You think they got here in ten minutes?"

"I don't know," she replied quickly. "But something's not right."

Nodding his head, Salazar opened the door and rushed outside. Rowena would swear she could hear shouting at the very edges of her hearing, and there was definitely a flickering light in the distance. Something was burning that shouldn't be, and with the anti-scrying candle having gone out… well, she didn't trust coincidences.

Salazar wasn't gone for a minute before he was rushing back inside, out of breath. "It's definitely them, and they're setting every house on fire," he said, panting heavily. "We've got to get out of here!"

Rowena immediately started swishing her wand around, pulling items off her shelves with her magic and packing them into a chest while Salazar rushed over to Harry. He shook the sleeping man heavily until he woke up.

Startled by the sudden shaking, Harry jumped up and groggily looked around. He spared one look at Rowena who was frantically packing as many of her belongings as possible. "What's going on?"

"It's the Knights of Saint Benedict," Salazar said grimly. "They're here!"


	3. Chapter 3

Harry was slow to process Salazar's exclamation, up until a rock smashed through the window, sending shards of misshapen glass everywhere. The grogginess he felt left him immediately as he began to process the situation. His heart had been pounding, but now it was racing.

The Knights were coming, and Harry was in poor condition to do anything about it. Rowena scrambled to pack up as much of her belongings as possible. Panic and adrenaline seized Harry as he did the same.

Silver chain and wooden stake, then blade and vials - each found itself stuffed into his bag of holding without a second thought given to tidiness. He paused as his hands found a large cylinder filled with a deep blue liquid that sloshed at the slightest touch, seemingly defying gravity.

Pulling the stopper off, Harry quickly downed a quarter of the contents before putting it back on and stuffing it away with the rest of his potions. With luck, it would see him through the hour. Lastly, he picked up his spare wands, kept one in hand and carefully stowed the others away.

The stiffness in his body was dissipating, at least temporarily. Potions were not a substitute for proper sleep, and in time his newfound strength would desert him, but for now it would do.

Salazar was standing next to the broken window, carefully peeking out to track the progress of the approaching mob. "We've got maybe thirty seconds before they're here," he called out. "They're being cautious."

"I need more time than that!" Rowena called out, barely even sparing them a glance.

"What's more important: some trinkets, or your life?" Salazar asked.

"A lot of work went into collecting this information," Rowena said. "Without which, your friend here would be in serious trouble."

"I owe you a debt," Harry replied.

"And soon you'll owe me a house, if the Knights burn this one down."

"I'll buy you some time then. It's the least I can do," Harry said, turning to Salazar. "Are you up for it?"

"I'm always eager for a chance to observe the Knights to discover their secret," Salazar replied.

Harry inched up to the other side of the window and peered out. Truthfully, what he saw did not worry him, but he knew better. There was a group of men, some wearing the distinctive armor of Saint Benedict, while the others looked like local peasantry, dressed in poorly woven clothing and brandishing rusty farming implements for weapons. All of them carried torches. It was nothing Harry would normally worry about, but Salazar was deathly serious, and that gave him pause.

"We're not aiming to kill them," Salazar reminded him. "Their enchanted armor will protect them, but only to an extent. A powerful enough spell _will_ go through, but the type of spell powerful enough to do that would most likely be lethal. We don't want to make martyrs."

"Doesn't look like more than a dozen right now," Harry said.

"We can handle this, but imagine if it was ten times as many? A hundred times? A whole city dedicated to hunting witches and wizards? It would be a catastrophe. We must protect ourselves first and foremost, but we must also protect our kind as a whole."

"Got it," Harry said.

"Good. Area of effect spells will be most effective - not all of them are Knights. On the count of three. One - two - three!"

The rabble wasn't more than fifty feet away when Harry and Salazar burst out the front door. A chorus of shouts went up, and immediately those with swords unsheathed them, while the others waited for the signal to throw their torches.

Harry didn't wait. The Knights had struck first when they tried to chain his magic, And now they were at Rowena Ravenclaw's doorstep, ready to burn the place to the ground. He wouldn't let that stand.

A gale blew through the mob, catching them all by surprise. It wasn't enough to knock them down, so Harry doubled up his attempt, jabbing his wand forward once more. Those of them with enchanted shields were quick to bring them to bare, which was the wrong move. A gust of wind was a gust of wind, magical or not, and the force of it nearly knocked them over.

But not quite.

They braced as their oil-lit torches held on. A few seconds later, the wind faded and Harry was already casting his next spell. Someone shouted a command, and a second later, the torches started flying.

With a few well aimed blasts of air, Harry knocked several torches out of the air, extinguishing them in the process. Salazar was similarly prepared, using a rebounding jinx to deflect them off to the side.

Those torches didn't quite go out, instead, they spilled their lit oil out onto the ground, where it quickly lit the grass of fire. Harry did not let himself get distracted by the flames. He knew the value of being underestimated, and he would not underestimate the mob's ability to take advantage of the situation.

Harry would worry about the fire for the moment, as the Knights were now just twenty feet away, swords raised. They were angry, almost rabid in their zeal. Harry was angry too, pissed off even. He _hated_ bigotry like this. But, he had to do what he had to do.

Pointing his wand at the sky, Harry swept it downwards at the ground beneath the group and began muttering an incantation under his breath. There was a shout from amongst the mob, and just as they were about to charge him, the whole ground started shaking.

It was quick and violent, but localized. Rowena's house rattled a bit, but the mob got it worse, all of them toppling over in an undignified manner. Enchanted armor or not, the quaking ground had caught them all by surprise.

Salazar might have fallen as well, but he wasn't laden with heavy armor, and had recognized Harry's intent. Once the groundquell dissipated, Salazar went to work. A multitude of roots and creeper vines burst from the ground, green and brown in color and very ropey, which began to entangle the rabble. In seconds, they were trapped.

Harry was impressed with the spellwork, but before he could dwell on it, a sudden, piercing scream echoed out from behind them.

"Rowena!" Salazar shouted in alarm.

Harry spared the men one last look. Those with swords were already cutting and slashing at the vines, trying to cut themselves free. "Dammit." Harry muttered. It would not take long, but he hoped it would be long enough.

Salazar and Harry darted around to the back of the house, towards the source of the scream. Harry scanned the situation very carefully. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see smoke starting to billow from where Salazar had deflected the torches. More pressingly, in front of him were about twenty more Knights and torch wielding peasants.

It was a large group, larger than the first and somehow it had snuck up on them. Then again, they had only looked out the _front_ of the house. It looked like Rowena had made an exit through the walls, only to be caught flat footed when she dispelled her exit and found the mob waiting for her.

The hadn't swarmed her yet, looking as surprised as Rowena. Harry and Salazar were there before they recovered, throwing themselves in front of Rowena as she hastily returned the things scattered on the ground back into her bag.

Salazar attacked first, this time attempting to freeze their feet to the ground with icy shackles. The spell worked a bit too slowly though, and some of the mob managed to kick out of them before they set in.

Seeing his opportunity, Harry followed up with an ear piercing sound, projected in a cone shape from his wand. Hands smashed into ears to try and stop the sound, but that didn't work out too well for the Knights who had helmets and couldn't actually cover their ears.

Sufficiently nullified, Salazar looked to Rowena. "Best get out of here now. There's no telling how much time this has bought."

"Thank you both," Rowena replied, clutcher her own wand in hand. "We'll have to meet up some other time in the future."

Rowena rolled her wand through the air in an intricate fashion, and where there had once been just her, there were now three copies of her. They all ran off into the woods about fifty feet before fading away into nothing.

It was a clever trick, one Harry could appreciate. He could tell that all off the figures were a projection, nothing more than an illusion, while the real Rowena had simply disillusioned herself before dashing off in the exact opposite direction. The Muggles, however, would be completely sold by the display.

Satisfied that Rowena was actually gone, Harry let go of the spell. He wasn't aiming to do permanent damage, which would have been all too easy if he held the spell for much longer. The muggles had no way to defend themselves from it, other than to perhaps run out of range of the spell, had Salazar allowed for it. Instead, Salazar made a second go of the freezing spell, shackling them to the ground in icy chains.

"Time for us to go, I think," Salazar said. "The chains will melt before long, if they don't break them with force.

"Think we should put out that fire?" Harry asked.

"No point," Salazar said, shaking his head. "They're just going to burn down the village after we leave anyways. Any time spent putting up fire protections means the possibility of the mob -"

As if on cue, the mob from the front of the house rushed around the side.

"- time to go!"

Unburdened by armor, they were faster than the Knights, but so too were the commoners. What they planned to do if they actually caught up to them, Harry wasn't sure, but it was better to just get out of there.

They ran for a few hundred feet before Salazar turned to him. "I feel like we just did this," he said, slightly out of breath.

"Yeah," Harry said with a sigh. "Got a plan?"

"I know a shortcut, but it's a few miles away. Can you ride?"

"Ride what?" Harry asked, but he got his answer a second later when a large fallen tree in front of them them morphed into a pair of horses.

"Get on quick, I'll steer," Salazar said. He quickly hopped on the back of one of the horses.

Salazar must have had some modicum of horseback experience, but Harry had none. He had ridden hippogriff, sure, even a dragon once, but a common horse? That was beyond him.

Harry quickly hopped onto the second horse and allowed Salazar's magic to do the rest. That was the neat thing with magic. A real horse would have kicked him off instantly, but this was a quick and dirty transfiguration, and only had basic function, which was just to gallop.

The horses were fast, and all Harry had to do was hold on. The forest was dense, but not overly so. The horses didn't have too tough of a time navigating through the thick trees and gnarled roots. And, if a horse did manage to snag a hoof on a root, Salazar could just transfigure another horse The important thing was that the horses were faster than the men giving chase.

Riding for fifteen or twenty minutes, they eventually stopped to listen for any signs of the mob, or to see if the fire was still going. Harry wasn't sure how far they had rode, perhaps five miles, but it seemed like they had had gotten away.

They continued on a cantor for a bit, neither one of them saying anything. His mind began to wander and his arms felt heavier It took a considerable effort to even pay attention to his surroundings. The rejuvenation potion was wearing off.

"How much farther is it?" Harry asked. "Where are we going anyways?"

"There's a hut somewhere in these woods," Salazar said. "A Mirrorkeeper is there. I'm not sure exactly where, never been there myself, but it shouldn't be too hard to find."

"So, we're lost?" Harry said, wondering what a Mirrorkeeper was.

"No," Salazar said quickly. "I know it's east. Just have to follow the moon."

The forest was getting denser, and Harry couldn't only catch glimpses of the moon through the canopy. It was full and bright.

"Say, is it me, or is it quiet?" Harry asked after a few minutes more of quiet riding.

"Horses must have spooked the wildlife," Salazar said.

"They're not real horses though - they don't have the same mannerisms or presence…" Harry pointed out. "What about insects, bats, owls? I hear nothing but the wind."

The wind _was_ howling, rustling the leaves in the trees and blowing debris off the ground, but Harry was right. The forest was eerily silent. It was almost unsettling.

"We must be close then," Salazar said. "The hut is protected by old, powerful magic. Animals wouldn't want to go near, perhaps they just don't bother with the area at all."

Harry frowned. The magic would have to be extremely powerful for that to be the case, and he wasn't sure what type of hut would need protections that extended potentially miles away from it.

They rode on to the sound of nothing but hooves on the forest floor and whispers of wind.

"Something isn't right," Harry said, just as they reached a clearing. It was a pretty large clearing, almost unnaturally so. If it hadn't been for several standing trees that look like they had been snapped in half, Harry would have thought the clearing to be manmade. Above them, the moon shone down brightly without the forest canopy overhead. It was a clear night, not a cloud in the sky.

Salazar pulled his horse up to Harry's and gazed at the sky with him. "I reckon you're right," he said at last. He sniffed the air. "Smell that?"

"Smells like…death."

To the side of them, a line of bushes exploded outwards, a half dozen wolves darting out and charging the horses and their riders. The horses spooked immediately, tossing the riders onto the ground Harry fell off his onto his back, but Salazar had a bit more grace and landed on one knee.

"Wargs," Salazar stated grimly. His wand was already in hand, weaving a spell. "Only a magical creature would have spooked the transfigured horses like that - use fire."

Harry was familiar with wargs, though he had never encountered them. Strangely enough, Harry didn't see an alpha among them, though that could mean it was just lurking in the shadows, waiting.

The wargs swarmed the panicking horses, dragging them to the ground and dispatching them, only for splinters of wood to fill their mouths rather than horse meat. They growled in anger.

A single warg wasn't too much of a worry for a wizard, but you'd never encounter a warg by , they weren't that much different than normal wolves. Just bigger, stronger, faster. More agile, sharper claws. And toxic saliva, to help them digest the meat of other magical animals. That was the only truly magical part about them, other than the fact that supposedly the first wargs were created from the union of a werewolf and a normal wolf.

Harry didn't dwell on that part. Most hybrid creatures had strange origins that Harry didn't want to contemplate too closely, and wargs were on that list besides Centaurs and Hippogriffs.

Most beasts feared fire if they weren't in a bloodthirsty frenzy. Fire, Harry could do. He twirled his wand in a frenzy, creating a small tornado of fire that he spun through the wargs. The beasts were nimble, deftly avoiding the flames, but that was good, since it meant they weren't coming after him.

Salazar, similarly, was no stranger to fire, and was wielding a flaming spear that radiated such intense heat the the grass around him was withering and smoldering, instantly turning to ash rather than combusting.

The wargs were attempting to use pack tactics, but their prey weren't the normal sort they usually hunted, they were wizards, and they wouldn't be an easy meal. They would try and distract one of them, so then one of their pack could sneak around the back and get them from behind, but it wasn't working.

It wasn't long before a fair amount of the clearing was on fire, which meant that if a warg really wanted to get at Harry or Salazar, they'd have to jump through the fire, and magical beast or not, they weren't going to do that. Not usually.

As effective as fire was, they weren't actually making any progress. They hadn't killed any of the wargs, hadn't driven any off. All they had done was stop themselves from getting killed.

"We need to go bigger," Harry said. He took a second to deploy some protective measures for the both of them, so they wouldn't die from the smoke, or from the fire itself. That would be bad.

"What do you have in mind?" Salazar asked.

"More fire," Harry said.

Salazar nodded slowly as Harry conjured a second whirlwind of flame, which began to suck pockets of fire off the ground and spew them all over the place. Salazar got the hint, and conjured three swords of fire, animating them in such a way as to attack the wargs on their own volition.

They were more effective this time. Salazar lunged forward with his spear just as a warg tried to circle around, catching it in the flank. He quickly dispatched it with another lunge into the chest. The heat from his spear ignited the fur on the warg, giving off a horrendous stench.

"Good, keep it up," Harry said. He managed to light another warg on fire, though it ran off into the woods yelping before he could finish it.

"You know, something is still off," Salazar said as he conjured a fourth flaming sword. "This behavior... It's not typical."

"I've never fought wargs before, I wouldn't know," Harry replied, not wavering in his concentration. He wasn't sure how much longer he could go on, but he knew that he could not give the wargs any opportunity. They had to finish this quickly, before he faltered.

"You've heard how sometimes a pack of normal wolves is sometimes lead by a warg?" Salazar asked. While he talked, he managed to take out another warg with one of his animated swords. "It's not common, but it does happen."

"Yeah, and the muggles don't know better, thinking it's just a big wolf. The warg will urge the pack on, to make them more vicious and violent."

"Yes. It's the same thing with wargs. Except for a warg pack this big, and this vicious, there has to be a leader. Not a warg, a _werewolf_."

Harry muttered a curse. "That's bad," he said. "Vicious things. I've fought a few, and they're not fights I go out of my way to have."

"I prefer to not put myself in this position to begin with, and if that fails, then run."

"I don't think running is a viable strategy at the moment. There's still like ten wargs left."

"I'm aware."

As Harry went to re-apply a more powerful protective charm - to stop the floating embers from scorching themselves - a howl suddenly echoed through the clearing. The wargs immediately darted away from the fire to reply with their own howls.

"I do believe we just jinxed ourselves," Harry said dryly.

"I reckon you're right," Salazar said. He wasn't afraid, rather, just annoyed at the whole situation. "If it's not one thing, it's something else."

"Yeah," Harry said. "I have a plan. I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this up and a werewolf is likely to run circles around me in my current state. So, I'll distract it, you kill it. Remember, silver itself isn't lethal, it just prevents regeneration."

Salazar snorted. "No kidding," he said. However, before he could follow up with a snarky retort, there was a sudden burst of motion, and then the werewolf was amongst them.

In the blink of an eye, Harry transformed into a jaguar and pounced on the werewolf, knocking it off balance. The werewolf was large, standing nearly ten feet tall, with long, lanky limbs set with extremely sharp claws on the end. It was heavily scarred as well, indicating that it was quite likely an older werewolf, and not a freshly turned one.

The werewolf was swift, but Harry in his jaguar form was even swifter. When the werewolf would throw a heavy claw at him, he'd already be darting around and pouncing on top, trying to knock it down. But, the werewolf was larger, and heavier, and knocking it down so Harry could get at it's neck for a kill would take more luck than Harry normally had, and he was generally considered a very lucky person.

Salazar didn't wait to long to look for an opening, but he was wise to keep his distance. He let his flaming swords idle nearby, just in case the wargs reappeared, and animated the flaming spear instead, which was now dripping blue flames on to the ground. His accuracy wasn't the greatest at thirty feet away, and he had to be careful to not hit Harry, but he would not risk getting bit by a werewolf at all. Not for someone he barely knew.

The battle wasn't going great. Harry was unable to do any significant damage, and he was wearing himself out a lot more than the werewolf was. If anything, the werewolf was only getting faster as it got enraged. It wouldn't be long before it got Harry.

Salazar had to do something, but he was at a loss. There were spells he knew that could take out the werewolf, it was true, but they would also do significant damage to the surroundings, and likely kill Harry as well. And it wasn't the same kind of situation where he had to be careful with how he fought the Knights. He needed Harry to make a break for it, but signaling him without alerting the werewolf would not be possible.

Salazar didn't get the opportunity. The remaining wargs chose that moment to rejoin the fight, and now Harry was completely on the defensive, not able to spare any motion to attack the werewolf. He was starting to shows signs of battle as well, as a few thin lines of blood were showing up on his hide.

Now was not the time to hold back, Salazar decided. With a grimace, he thrust his wand forward, calling upon an ancient incantation, one that dated back to the fall of the Greek Empire. Such magic was not widely known unless you were part of an old family, and his was one of the oldest.

The ground shook, and a pool of lava boiled up to the ground. From the lava emerged several imp-like creatures, several feet tall with curved horns and with dagger-like fingers, entirely made out of fire. From their back spouted two sets of wings that were a blur as they took to the sky. Fiends.

It took a great deal of concentration to keep the spell under control, so he wasted no time in setting them after the wargs. The quicker they killed the wargs, the quicker he could end the spell and reduce the risk of it spiralling out of control. For that reason, he opted to not send them at the werewolf, since the spell was just as likely to go after Harry as well. At least this way, going after the wargs would relieve some of the pressure from Harry.

Harry was flagging badly. The werewolf managed to land a blow, sending Harry tumbling off to the side where he landed on his back. He got up, shakily, and continued to fight, only to get caught a second time by a set of claws, digging deep into his leg. Salazar winced, but Harry came back a third time.

Salazar had wiped out half of the remaining wargs, but they were getting smart, forcing him to spread his spell out. He was concentrating so hard, that he almost didn't notice the werewolf punting the jaguar animagus hard enough to send it into the tree, where it crumpled at the ground. Harry did not get back up.

Instead of moving to finish off the prone animagus, the werewolf's head swiveled immediately to where Salazar was standing. Could it detect the magic he was throwing off in waves? If so, every magical creature in a half mile radius was likely aware of him.

Even partially obscured by the fire, the werewolf charged straight at him. Salazar had no doubt, even as hot as the fire was, the werewolf wouldn't spare a second thought in charging through it. It would regenerate, and Salazar hadn't had a spare second to even think about silver, let alone conjure some. He was dubious as to the effectiveness of conjured silver anyways, as it was just magic, but he didn't have a chance to even try as the werewolf sprang at him.

All he could do was pull up his wand. Just as he was about to attempt a banishing charm, a blurry cloaked figure ran right past him, sword in hand, jumped in the air and bisected the werewolf in mid-leap. The werewolf fell onto the ground in two pieces, where it then began to smoke and smoulder from where the sword had touched it. Silver or not, the werewolf wouldn't be regenerating from that.

It had happened so fast that Salazar could barely believe that that had just happened. The cloaked figure stopped near the bisected werewolf and bent over to check to make sure it was dead. It was never a bad idea to be too cautious, even when it was so definitive.

The cloaked figure turned towards Salazar, who quickly dispelled the fiendfyre before it got out of control. His lapse in concentration had only been brief, so he still managed to keep it under control.

As the cloaked figure neared ten feet or so away, he suddenly began to laugh. It was joyful and deep, and quite out of place for what had just happened. "I'll be damned, it's Salazar Slytherin. That's twice now I've saved you."

Salazar squinted into the darkness, peering at the cloaked man's face. "Godric Gryffindor?"

"Aye, that's me," Godric replied. He pulled back his hood, revealing a full mane of ginger hair, and a massive beard. There was a nasty scar on his chin that prevented his beard from growing back in that one spot.

"Not to be ungrateful or anything, but what are you doing way out here?"

"What am I doing? I should be asking you that same question. You know this place is nicknamed the Moonsgrove, right? Were you looking for a fight? And really, _Fiendfyre?_ "

"No. Harry and I were escaping from Dawnpetal Village-"

"Dawnpetal?" Godric interrupted. "What for? That's where Rowena Ravenclaw lives."

"Yes, exactly. Harry got marked by the Knights of Saint Benedict, and she was the only one I could think of that could probably remove it, now that Broona has passed."

"I heard about Broona's passing," Godric said. He took a second to pick a burning ember out of his beard "That's a tough loss to handle. Tell me, was Rowena successful?"

"She was, but not before the Knights had managed to rally up to peasants and track us down. The whole place is likely ashes by now."

"Did Rowena escape?" Godric asked.

"As far as I know, but I can't be certain," Salazar replied. "We attempted to distract them, and then we ran, all the way here."

"Damn witchhunters," Godric said, sighing. "Why here though?"

"I was attempting to get us to the Stonewood Mirrorkeeper, but we got a bit sidetracked here."

"Hm, you're still about two miles from Stonewood - that's where I just came from. The village put a bounty on a nearby werewolf, which led me here. I do have to say though, that was probably the least efficient magical display I have ever seen."

"Yeah, well, I was trying to not kill Harry in the process."

"Hmpf, the shapeshifter? He your friend?"

"After today, he might as well be," Salazar said.

"I might not get too attached if I were you. If he got bit by the werewolf, you know what I have to do."

"I do." Salazar nodded. "Let's go check on him."

Salazar and Godric carefully walked around the smoldering fires on the ground, looking for Harry. It didn't take long to find the trail of blood that led to the tree, where Harry was sitting up against. He was running the tip of his wand up and down a long gash on his leg. It was healing, but extremely slowly. So slowly that you wouldn't even notice unless you were specifically watching for it. It was a cursed wound, so it would be difficult to heal completely, if even possible..

"Were you bitten?" Godric asked bluntly.

"Nice to meet you too," Harry said sarcastically. He was still bleeding quite a bit from other wounds, but it wasn't life threatening. "No, I wasn't _bitten._ I heard what you said over there - you weren't exactly quiet."

"So, I guess you two have never crossed paths," Salazar said. "I would have guessed he was in the same profession as you, seeing as how you both got silver swords."

Godric unsheathed his silver sword, letting it glint in the moonlight. It was completely unstained by blood, and it seemed to radiate its own presence. "Gryffindor" was engraved onto the blade. It was a very powerful magical artifact.

Harry, for his part, reach into his robes and unsheathed his silver sword. Except, it wasn't a sword, and was actually just a six inch long dagger. "Potter" was engraved in it, though the lettering was tiny.

Godric snorted. "Yeah, same profession alright…"

"Hey, if I wasn't so tired that I could sleep for five days straight, I would have had that werewolf. I'll have you know that I have actually killed one by myself before."

"Sure," Godric said, using the most unconvincing tone he could manage.

"Whatever," Harry said. "I'm bleeding here - are you going to gawk, or are you going to help?"

"Fine," Godric replied. Salazar just stood by with an amused smiled as Godric pulled back the front flap on his cloak. Strapped to his chest was about two dozen potion vials, in various shapes and sizes, filled with all manner of liquids. One of them was empty.

Pulling out a particularly large five-sided vial filled with a light green liquid, Godric leaned over and poured it over the gash on Harry's leg. It seemed to speed up the healing significantly.

"Well, that proves it," Godric said. "That concoction only works on humans, and between that and your proximity to silver with no adverse reaction, I'd say you're not a werewolf."

"How astute of you," Harry said dryly. "Sunblood potion, huh," he continued, feeling at his knitting skin. "Never tried it before, but seems to be working well. Anyways, I think the fact that I'm a damn animagus should be proof that I'm not a werewolf. It's one of the perks."

"Animagus? Is that what you call it?" Salazar asked. "I thought it was just shapeshifting."

"No, shapeshifting is an innate skill to transform into _any_ animal, and it's a skill you have to be born with, or obtain somehow. Animagi is a learned skill, giving you access to one animal form. It is actually a type of transfiguration, whereas shapeshifting,- and by virtue of being similar, werewolves, weretigers, werebears -"

"I get it," Salazar said.

"Apparently you don't," Harry said. "Not to be rude or anything, but _shapeshifters can't get afflicted either_ , so that makes this doubly stupid. It works on the same principle, being that in order to transform at will, you need to know every inch of your own body, inside of out, to be so in tune to know what defines you as a person, to be able to retain your sense of self when you transform into an alternate form, when you've achieved that state, a disease like Lycanthropy isn't going to take hold. Not to mention, it only affects humans, so it's not like I would have turned into a human were-jaguar or something like that"

"Well, thanks for the lesson," Godric chimed in. "Still, had to know for certain. In my line of work, any carelessness can result in death."

"Let's move on," Harry said. He let forth a long, tired sigh.

"We _should_ get moving," Salazar agreed. "If what Godric said is true, then the Mirrorkeeper isn't that far."

"I'll take you there," Godric offered. "Wouldn't hurt to have an extra hand at your side. Plus, I know that you didn't kill all of the wargs. They might have scattered after their leader was killed, but they're still out there."

"That's agreeable," Salazar said. "Plus, that will allow us to catch up on old times."

"Let me just collect the head from the werewolf, and we can go. I need proof of the deed, after all," Godric said

Collecting the head of a werewolf was a tricky affair. Godric had to be quite careful, as he did not have the apparent immunity to Lycanthropy that Harry had. He wasn't sure if it was possible to get it when the werewolf was dead, but he did not want to take the chance, so he was very careful with the blood and saliva.

It was kind of a messy affair. The head went into a conjured sack, and all the various bits that might have some use in a potion, enchantment or ritual were put into another bag. After all, Godric was in it for the money, and there was no sense in leaving behind perfectly good ingredients, especially when those ingredients were incredibly rare. As for the wargs, they were all quite burnt up and not worth trying to salvage.

Lastly, just as they were about to leave, Godric pulled out his wand and faced the grove. With a wide arcing motion, a windstorm formed, similar to the one Harry had used on the Muggles back at Dawnpetal, and with another motion, the remain fires all winked out. Finally, they set out.

The two miles to the Mirrorkeeper seemed to last forever. They were taking it slow. While Godric was fresh and chipper, Salazar was quite tired, and Harry was pretty much sleepwalking. How he was even standing was a miracle.

It wasn't the minor injuries that he was still suffering, but the fact that he hadn't had any proper rest in what felt like days, had gone through a curse removal, and was suffering the side-effects of the rejuvenation potion, as well as all the magic he had thrown around..

Harry, for his part, was more alert than he was letting on, but it required all of his willpower to do so. He didn't know what the connection between Salazar and Godric was, and he wasn't going to ask. What he did know was that apparently Godric had saved Salazar's life once before.

Truth be told, Harry didn't think the werewolf would have killed them. There was a good chance that Salazar would have been able to land a lethal blow - he was a skilled wizard after all. If all else failed, Harry simply would have apparated away. He didn't know that many places in this time period, but none of those other places had werewolves, just magic-hating peasants.

Regardless, Harry was merely on high alert so as to not get ambushed again. He was under no illusions that he'd stand up to another fight. Godric and Salazar would do their part to protect him, he hoped, but given the choice, they would save themselves first. All he wanted was a chance to get some proper rest.

The one curious thing though, was why they didn't opt a faster travelling method. Salazar had transfigured a set of horses out of a tree earlier, but now they were just walking. Harry didn't know much about Godric Gryffindor, but one the one thing he had learned about him from the future was that he was almost prodigious in his usage of transfiguration. He could have managed such a transfiguration, so Harry was left thinking that he probably just didn't consider it.

Harry simply didn't say anything. Truthfully, he found it kind of amusing, even though he was the one who would benefit the most. Also, he felt that even just opening his mouth would be too much for him, and he'd pass out. He wanted to save his strength.

Eventually, they arrived at the Stonewood Mirrorkeeper's hut. It wasn't in the village itself, but far enough away where most of the villagers wouldn't give it a second thought. The hut was very well hidden, sitting just a few feet off the ground and positioned in such a way that the roof barely rose above the nearby tree roots. It looked decrepit too, nearly rotting. There was an aura of magic about the place, and Harry got the impression that even if he were to accidentally stumble on the place, he wouldn't have noticed it.

"This is where I leave you," Godric said.

"It was good to see you again, Gryffindor," Salazar said. "And… thanks for the save. Even if I didn't need it."

"Yeah, thanks," Harry agreed amicably.

"I suspect we'll be seeing more of each other soon, if what you said about the witch hunters are true. But, until then, may fortune favor you both."

Godric turned and left, his cloak swishing behind him. He was off to go collect his bounty from the village nearby. That left Salazar and Harry at the Mirrorkeeper's hut by themselves.

Salazar knocked twice on the old, gnarled door. The door creaked and slowly opened, and an old, wispy voice called out from inside. "Come in."

Harry gulped and reached for his wand, only for Salazar to wave him off.

Confidently, Salazar strode in, and Harry followed suit, far less sure. There was only a single dimly lit candle, sitting on a rough hewn table. At the table sat an old crone, her white hair so wispy that one might have confused it for a spider's web. She looked ancient, far older than anyone Harry had ever met. Her face was so sunken and gaunt that he couldn't even see her eyes.

The inside of the hut was as ancient as the crone. There was a single dilapidated bookshelf, though any book that many have been on it had long turned to dust. There was a cauldron over a small pit, rusty enough that imbibing anything made in it would likely be lethal. And, in one corner lay the remains of an old bed, which was little more than rotting spars and the worn ragged pelt of an unknown animal.

"Revered Mirrorkeeper," Salazar said. "We seek to use your mirror."

The crone smiled a crooked smile, one containing only three rotting teeth, and nodded once over to the corner of the room, where sat a massive ornate mirror that somehow Harry hadn't noticed. It was huge, seven feet tall, and Harry wasn't sure how it fit inside that tiny hut, but somehow it did. The frame was silver and gold, intricately carved and very out of place amongst the surroundings. There was an engraving on the frame that Harry couldn't quite make out in the low light.

Harry walked in front of the mirror, but to his surprise, he didn't see his reflection. He didn't even see his long dead parents or anything like that. What he saw was nothing at all. Just a vast, empty void. He quickly averted his gaze.

Suddenly, the crone snapped her fingers, and the surface of the mirror lit up, startling Harry. Salazar quickly placed a hand on Harry's back to prevent him from tripping. The surface of the mirror took on a silvery glow, and seemed to shimmer, as if it were liquid. It was bright, so much so that it hurt to look at.

Salazar spoke up. "Slytherin Estate, Farview upon Alchor Springs."

And just like that, the surface of the mirror changed, showing an image of a sprawling estate set in the middle of a lush forest, with workers tending to various gardens. There was a small stream nearby, next to a path that eventually lead to a nearby village. It even had a small wooden bridge over it. It was quite pretty.

"You first," Salazar said, hand still on Harry's back. "Just walk in, easy as that."

Taking in a deep breath, Harry walked in.

* * *

A/N If you see any errors, feel free to call them out. There's probably a bunch.


End file.
